The Brooklyn Book Boyfriends

by Kayley Loring

  I can’t believe I physically surrendered myself to a stranger so many times. Was as vulnerable as I could be…and I might never see Vince again. The thought had caused my stomach to turn earlier—not the fact that it happened—the possibility that it won’t happen again. But now that I’ve had a shower and an hour to get used to the idea, I am almost complacent just focusing on how good he made me feel for a night. And how he saved me from what would surely have been the lamest breakup drinking binge ever. He turned my closed-off anger into openness, turned that into lust, and turned that into sweet satisfaction. He’s a sexy alchemist. I’m grateful.

  And I can’t stop smiling.

  “Uh-huh,” Marnie replies, even though I still haven’t told her about the sexy bits yet—with words, anyway.

  We both collapse onto my sofa.

  “Well, I already know you brought him back here, because this place smells like sex. The coffee and incense did nothing to cover it up. Nice try, though.”

  I put the coffee mug down and laugh, pulling my knees up to my chin.

  “So I take it he had a penis and a condom and he knew how to use them?”

  “Oh, Marnie.” I drop my forehead to my knees, covering my face with my hands. “Oh my God.” I lift my head up, but I can’t look at her when I say it out loud: “He had a penis and a condom. And he had fingers and a mouth and a tongue. And his eyes. Oh God, his eyes are what really killed me.”

  “Yeah. That and the big hard weapon between his legs, right?”

  I’m blushing. I didn’t divulge much information about my sex life with Russell to Marnie. Because there wasn’t that much to talk about, and also, we all work together, so it wasn’t appropriate. But she’s easy and fun to talk to, and I have to talk about this with someone. “Oh my God. It was so amazing.”

  “So the sex all happened before he told you that he had stalked you?”

  “After. Well—wait. Partly after.”

  “That’s hot. I don’t know why that’s hot, but it’s hot. Last night, Dave and I binge-watched Arrested Development, made out for thirty-five seconds, and then fell asleep on the couch. I woke up in the middle of the night and his hand was on my boob, his mouth smushed up against my cheek. We literally fell asleep in the middle of making out. Your thing sounds a little more fun.”

  “I would love to stay in and make out while watching Arrested Development. That’s basically my dream date.”

  “Please. In case I haven’t made it clear yet—I’m proud of you. It takes guts to spread your legs for a total stranger. Guts and a blue drink.”

  “I don’t know why, but I just trusted him. I mean, I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. On purpose, anyway.”

  “Yeah. It’s the eyes.”

  “Yeah.” I cover my face again, but that just makes it worse. Because those eyes of his are all I see. And his mouth. And his chest. And his hands. And his arms. And his butt. “I kind of hope he doesn’t come back.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m afraid I’ll fall in love with him. I don’t think I could handle getting my heart broken by a guy like that.”

  “Awww.” She pats my knee. “Sweetie.”

  I sigh. I’ve been sighing all morning. Vince Whatever-his-name-is is the kind of guy who makes women sigh. And take their clothes off. And scream while having orgasms.

  Oh God.

  “Well. What the hell right? What’s the worst that could happen? You’re what—thirty?”

  I gasp. “I’m twenty-seven.”

  “You are?” She appears to be genuinely shocked by this news.

  “Yes.”

  “I thought we were around the same age.”

  “I’m five years younger than you.”

  “Wow.”

  “Do I look like I’m in my thirties?”

  “No. God no. You look nineteen. You’ve just always had a thirty-something vibe to you. Like, we always joke that you have a secret husband and five kids in Canada and you just work here during the school year.”

  “You do? Who’s we? Is that really what people think of me?”

  “Well, honey, it’s not an insult or anything. You’re just usually so proper. It’s about time you realized you don’t have to act like a first-grade teacher every second of your life.”

  I grin. “I said ‘fuck’ a bunch of times last night.”

  “Oh, I’ll bet you did. Which Outsiders character is he? Dallas, right? He’s straight-up Dallas Winston.”

  This is a game we play. Whenever we have a troubled boy in our classes, we try to figure out which character from The Outsiders he is. I get a lot of Ponyboys and Johnnys in the first grade. By the time they get to her fourth-grade class, they’re Steve Randles.

  I had such a crush on Matt Dillon and Dallas Winston when I was thirteen, but I told people that Ponyboy was my favorite.

  “He was probably a Dally when he was younger, but he’s got those Johnny Cade eyes.”

  “Right,” she says, nodding emphatically. “The eyes.” She pulls out her phone and brings up the picture I sent her last night.

  “Sodapop,” we both say at the same time.

  The dreamy one.

  “Yeah.” She finally puts her phone back in her hidden pocket, sighing. “Sodapop.”

  “Yeah.” I stretch my arms up and yawn, reach for the coffee.

  “You gonna come for a run with me?”

  “Um. I mean, I don’t know if or when he’s going to show up, so…I should probably hang around here.”

  “Can’t you text him?”

  My face falls.

  “He didn’t give you his number?”

  “I don’t even know his last name.”

  “Wow. So you really might not see him again.”

  I pout.

  “Sorry. I’m sure he’ll come back. Of course he will.”

  “But if he doesn’t, I’m totally fine with that.”

  “Of course you are.”

  “I am.”

  “Just, you know. If he does come back, and if you do get involved, be careful.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You know. A guy like that. Just be careful.”

  “I don’t. Marnie. How am I supposed to be careful? Wear a chastity belt?”

  “Yeah. Wear a chastity belt around your heart. I think that’s a Sting song from the nineties.”

  She hops up off the sofa and stretches her hamstrings, checks her Fitbit. “Okay. I’m gonna go. Call me if you need to talk more. Find an excuse to take more pictures of him if he does come back.”

  I laugh. “Um. No.” I get up to hug her. “Thanks for coming by.”

  “One of these days you’re coming jogging with me.”

  “Oh for sure.”

  “Stay gold, Ponygirl.”

  While I finish my coffee, I stare at the hole that Vince punched in the drywall. I suddenly remember that he said, “I can’t believe she fucking left us.”

  Who is us? Does he have a kid? Or was he talking about the little brother he mentioned? There is so much I don’t know about him, but I still feel like he knows me so well. How is that possible?

  I wonder if he’s actually going to come back. Part of me doesn’t even want that hole in the wall to be patched up. I want to take a picture of it and post it on Instagram and say: Last night I had a hot one-night stand with a bad boy stranger, and all I got was this hole in the wall and about ninety orgasms.

  To prepare for Vince’s possible return, I’m going to listen to Joni Mitchell, drink tea, and try to put together an outfit for today that says: “I have no regrets about last night; however, I’m not really that kind of girl. But thank you for honoring your commitment to filling up my hole.”

  7

  Vince

  I shouldn’t go back. But I told her I’d go back. I want to see her again. But it’s a bad idea. We don’t have anything in common. But last night was hot. I can’t be the guy who punched a hole in her wall, fucked her, and then left without an explanation. I
’m not that guy. I’m just the guy who can’t stop thinking about her, apparently.

  It’s probably just because she’s new.

  It probably just means I need to get back out there, start seeing new people.

  Or it means I need to see Nina again, because last night was hot.

  “Hey. You hear what I said?” my dad asks.

  “What? No.” I go back to buttering Charlie’s waffles and ask my dad, “Hey do you have any blueberries or something?”

  “That’s enough butter!” Charlie cries out.

  “There’s never enough butter!” What kid doesn’t like tons of butter on everything? I wipe the butter off the knife, onto his waffle, and put the plate in front of him. “Don’t eat it until I find a berry or two. That was the deal, remember?”

  “I think there’s a bag of frozen berries from like two years ago.”

  That reminds me of Nina and her bag of frozen peas, and I don’t hear a word he says again for another ten seconds. “What?”

  “What is wrong with you this morning?”

  “Nothing.” I pull a bag of blueberries out from the freezer. It’s hard as a brick. “You don’t have any other fruits?”

  “There’s bananas.”

  “I don’t want a banana on my waffles,” Charlie complains.

  “Fine. You can eat it separately.” I toss out the rock-hard bag of blueberries and put a banana on the kitchen table in front of my kid brother. There. I am the best older half brother he has. No question.

  “Did you get the break-even ratio to that guy for the Henry Street listing?” my dad asks.

  “I cc’d you yesterday. As always. I cc’d you and Karla and Eve and Gabe.”

  “I didn’t see it.”

  “Not my fault, is it?” My dad’s the founding partner and CEO of the Devlin Commercial Realty Group, where I’m a vice president. So he’s my boss. But it’s difficult to treat him with the respect he’s accorded when he’s standing in front of me in his boxers and bright yellow smiley-face slippers, with a chocolate protein shake mustache and a confused look on his face.

  “You hear back from the guy yet? Who’s it—Briggs?”

  “Connor Briggs,” I tell him.

  “Asshole name.”

  “Total asshole client. But he’s very encouraged. I feel good about it. I’ll talk to him and his business manager later today about his timeline. The Bushwick deal should close tomorrow.”

  “Good. Great!” He turns to his youngest son. “Charlie, you need to get dressed.”

  “But you’re not dressed.”

  “I’m not taking you to camp today. Vince is.”

  “I am? I’ve got a client meeting in Williamsburg, and I have to get home to change first.”

  “Shit,” my dad grumbles. “I’ve got a conference call in fifteen. We gotta get a new nanny.”

  “Ya think?”

  “I’ll have Karla get into it.” He glances at Charlie and then gives me a stern look, lowering his voice. “You need to tell him. About you-know-who.”

  “Yeah.” Might as well do it now. I take a seat next to Charlie, who’s shoving half a waffle into his mouth. “Hey, buddy. There’s something I need to tell you.”

  “About Sadie?” He doesn’t look at me.

  “Yeah. How’d you know?”

  He shrugs. Like it’s no big deal that he’s eight years old and somehow knows everything.

  “Anyway…you know how Sadie and I were dating? Which is why she was still coming around, even though she didn’t work as your nanny anymore—I mean, she also loved to hang out with you. She wanted to see you. Everybody loves you. But Sadie and I aren’t dating anymore, so you might not see her much. If at all.”

  He stares at his plate and chews.

  “I mean, we might run into her. Or see her around the neighborhood,” my dad offers.

  “Yeah, for sure. But she’s not my girlfriend anymore. You get what that means, right?”

  He swallows and looks at me sideways. “It means you aren’t boning her anymore?”

  My dad slaps his forehead and groans.

  “He learned that from Gabe, not me.”

  “It’s just a matter of time before someone calls social services.”

  “That’s not funny.” I turn to Charlie, who’s totally stoic in a way that breaks my heart. “Do you have any questions about what I just told you? It’s okay for you to be sad or mad or whatever. You can cry if you miss her. Nobody will judge you for that.”

  “Well. Maybe don’t cry in public.”

  “He can cry in public if he needs to, Dad.”

  “Enh. It’s not like she’s dead. She’s just not your girlfriend anymore.”

  I try not to glare at him. My dad and brother think I’m overprotective of this kid’s feelings because I’m such a big pussy myself. But I don’t think they recognize what a sensitive little guy he is.

  “If you want to be mad at me, Charlie, you be mad at me. Right? It’s okay to have feelings.”

  “Okay.” He sighs and pushes back his chair. “I have to get dressed. Who’s taking me to day camp?”

  My dad and I look at each other.

  “Michelle?” my dad says hopefully.

  “She goes to work at eight. I’ll call Gabe and see where he’s at.”

  We are not killing it as caregivers this morning.

  Fortunately, my brother was free to take Charlie to camp, so that somehow worked out, in the way that things always somehow do. I can’t help but feel guilty, even though I know it’s not totally my responsibility. I guess everyone was right when they told me not to bang the hot nanny and I didn’t listen—even though her quitting to take the better-paying job had nothing to do with me. At least I don’t think it did. If anything, she stuck with Charlie longer than she would have because we were dating. I can’t believe she was the longest relationship I’ve ever had. The only girl I’ve ever dated exclusively for more than a couple of months. And how am I rewarded…?

  I can’t even feel angry about it right now.

  Because I was rewarded with Nina.

  Not that she’s mine.

  I was rewarded with last night.

  Last night was perfect.

  Well, it wasn’t perfect. But it was really fucking great.

  After my meeting in Williamsburg, I have about three hours free. That is, if I cancel lunch and let my partner Eve dine with our twin chef clients on her own (she will love that). So I stop by my favorite hardware store to pick up supplies and find my way back to Nina’s street. I have to park two blocks away because parking in Brooklyn sucks. But it’s nice out, and I can use the walk to get my head straight before seeing her again.

  The restaurateur I met with this morning is a real player—a guy I hung out with a lot a couple years ago—and it’s been a while since I’d seen him. He immediately listed like nine women I needed to meet. Women who’d asked him about me recently. Women he’d been with who he thought I’d like. A woman who was passing by on the sidewalk outside the property I was showing him. I finally told him, “I’ve been in a relationship for a while, actually.” He was shocked to hear this and asked to see pictures of my girlfriend. Obviously I didn’t show him pictures of Sadie. I told him I didn’t have any of her on my business phone. I don’t know why I said that, but I was thinking about Nina and how I wish I had pictures of her. Even though I’ve been seeing her face every time I close my eyes for hours and hours.

  Which is nuts.

  I need to just get in there, patch up the drywall, and get out. It was a one-time thing. We both got something out of our systems so we could move on from our own separate things. I need to be clear with her about that. Of course, I’m just assuming that she’d even want to see me again. I’m sure I’m not her type. Unless guy who makes me come hard and often is her type, but I have a feeling that was a first for her.

  I wish that didn’t make me smile like an idiot.

  I like the tree-lined street she lives on. It’s not fancy, but
it feels safe. I’m sure that’s why she picked it. She doesn’t answer after I’ve buzzed her from the front door twice. I walk down the stoop and look up at the top-floor windows. The curtains are open. Guess she’s not home. Guess I shouldn’t have just assumed she’d wait around for me all day.

  “Hey,” says a sweet voice from behind me. I turn to see Nina coming in through the low metal gate, carrying a grocery bag. She’s wearing jean shorts and a thin white blouse over a tank top, her hair up in a ponytail and nothing on her feet but a pair of flip-flops.

  I should have parked farther away so I had more time to prepare myself for seeing her again in the light of day.

  I probably have a fucking heart eyes emoji for a face right now.

  I can see golden strands in her brown hair, shining in the sunlight. No makeup. Her skin’s glowing in the way that surely only the truly happy and innocent can glow. Looking up at me through her eyelashes, she’s blushing. She is so fucking hot and cute. I want to spend the rest of the day slowly kissing every inch of her and then make her scream my name all night.

  I shouldn’t have come back.

  I instantly feel jealous that anyone else got to see her like this, but I’ve got no right to feel this way.

  “Sorry—have you been waiting long? I just popped out to grab a few things.”

  “No, I just got here. Is now a good time for me to…deal with the drywall situation?”

  “Now is an excellent time. Thanks for coming back. I wasn’t sure if you would.”

  “I’m a man of my word.”

  “What a pleasant surprise.”

  I get a whiff of her shampoo or something when she walks by me to unlock the front door. I want to grab hold of that ponytail so bad and hear her make that gasping sound from her pillowy pink lips. I shift the bag of hardware stuff and my cordless screwdriver kit to one hand so I can take her grocery bag from her.

  “Oh, thank you.”